


The Importance of Torn Papers

by MyLittleCornerOfSherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock/pseuds/MyLittleCornerOfSherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little things make a big difference, even little notes of thanks.  Small reminders to show he cares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Importance of Torn Papers

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [О важности записок](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5533565) by [Shae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shae/pseuds/Shae)



> This came about when I remembered the notes my mom used to leave for me in my sack lunches. It was ALMOST kid!lock. I hope you don't mind that I made it into this. Please forgive any typos or grammar errors, this work is unbetaed.

John’s laughter filtered through Sherlock’s concentration. Odd that this used to annoy him, but lately he’d found he didn’t mind as much.  He looked up from his microscope to see John engrossed in a Skype call with Harry.  She’d been sober for a year now, and the two siblings had begun holding weekly Skype sessions since it became clear she was serious.  John looked genuinely happy, his grin stretching across his face and his eyes twinkling.  Sherlock felt his insides do a funny flutter, which he knew was scientifically impossible.  But, Sherlock had come to learn, there was very little that was impossible when it came to John. 

“Do you remember those ridiculous notes she used to pack with our lunches?” Sherlock heard Harry ask with a giggle.  “ _Be good today, don’t forget to wash your hands before you eat._ or _Good job standing up for your friends.  I love you, Curly._ ”

“Hey, I liked those notes!” John countered with a laugh.  “They were the best part about my lunch.”

“True, Mum was never the best cook.  Remember how we used to joke she could ruin a simple ham and cheese sandwich?”  Harry sighed.  

“Yeah, and then she’d proceed to do just that,” John smiled fondly, “I still have some of those notes.   _Don’t forget to bring home your jacket.  I love you, Johnny-boy._ and _I’m so proud of you.  You’re growing up too fast._ ”  Sherlock heard John sigh.  “I miss those little reminders of how much she cared.  Listen, it’s getting late and I’ve still got to run to the store.  We’re running low on anything edible in the fridge.”  The siblings said their goodbyes.

Sherlock turned back to his microscope, watching John stretch out of the corner of his eye.  Predictably John walked over and tapped Sherlock on the shoulder to get his attention.  After allowing for what would be the expected time for him to acknowledge John’s presence, Sherlock replied, “Yes, John?”

“I’m off to the store.  Can I pick up anything for you?”  He started putting on his coat.

“We’re out of tea.” Sherlock replied not looking up from his experiment.

“What?! Again?! I just bought some last week, Sherlock!  What did you do? As if I have to ask.” John sighed, good-naturedly.

“Experiment.” Sherlock said with a wave of his hand.

“Of course.  Next time, let me know before you do and I’ll buy the cheap stuff.” John huffed as he headed out.

Sherlock leaned back and called after him, “The cheap stuff wasn’t suitable!”  He heard John chuckle as he closed the door.  Sherlock leaned back in his chair and began to process the conversation he’d overheard.

 

* * *

 John sat at his desk and reached for his lunch.  It had been an unusually busy morning and he was really looking forward to the leftover pad thai he’d made from the night before.  He’d even packed himself a bit of dessert as a treat.  He opened his bag, expecting to find the utensils on top, but instead felt a scrap of paper.  John pulled out the small piece of folded paper, curious.  He knew he hadn’t packed it.  What had Sherlock done now?  Was there an experiment his mad flatmate had decided to conduct on leftover pad thai?  He unfolded the scrap of paper and smiled as he read the flowing script, butterflies suddenly appearing in his belly.  Someone had been eavesdropping yesterday.

On a scrap of paper torn from one of Sherlock’s pocket moleskin notebooks was written:

_Thank you for always making sure we have milk for tea. -SH_

John sat there for a moment, shocked.  Sherlock very rarely said thank you, let alone showed he cared.  John felt his hopes soar for a moment, before he let reality sink in.  Sherlock probably just wanted to show his appreciation to John for sticking around and being his friend, even though he didn’t need to.  Although, Lord knows, he should at least thank him for taking care of the milk.  John smiled, pulled out his phone, and sent Sherlock a text.

You’re welcome. Someone was eavesdropping. Thanks.  -JW 

John waited, but as expected, received no reply.  He carefully folded the note and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.  Throughout the day, he’d find himself reaching in, fingers running over the smooth surface, tracing the ragged edge that had been pulled from the notebook.  He wasn’t sure if he was looking for reassurance or trying to persuade the scrap of paper to reveal more of its previous owner’s secrets.  Either way, John always found himself smiling when he realized what he was doing.  

When they weren’t off running around London on a case, the notes started appearing daily.  Small little signs of Sherlock’s affection that were otherwise uncharacteristic of the man.

 _I may not always show it, but I appreciate you making sure I eat. -SH_   


_I’m glad to see you packed a nutritional lunch today, John.  But you forgot your dessert.  I hope you don’t mind I threw in a biscuit. -SH_

_The birthday cake was unnecessary, but appreciated. -SH_ _  
_

_You were amazing yesterday. Hand-to-hand combat suits you.  But I could have handled him myself. -SH_

_I promise not to leave fingers next to your leftovers again.  Could you pick up more tea on your way home?  You can buy the cheap kind this time.  -SH_   


_I’m sorry for calling you an idiot. You’re the brightest idiot I know. -SH_

_I’m honoured that you consider me your friend.  I hope you always will.  -SH_  

And so they continued, small tokens that John knew would be as close as Sherlock might ever come to revealing his feelings.  Each day, John would bound up the stairs, wave the piece of paper in a silent thank you to Sherlock before heading upstairs to place them in a box next to his mum’s old lunch notes.  Every now and then, John thought he caught Sherlock smiling at the gesture.

 

 

* * *

 

Sherlock was in a panic.  He had texted John 5 times in the last hour and gotten no reply.  That simply wasn’t like John.  He’d even tried to call him.  The calls went straight to voicemail without even ringing.  Something was wrong.  Very wrong.  Just as Sherlock decided to call Mycroft and enlist his help, Sherlock’s text alert went off.  

At the A&E.  Some bastard tried to mug me.  Lestrade is bringing me home.  Sorry to have worried you.  The arse broke my mobile. -JW

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and restrained himself from replying back with anything more than a succinct text of acknowledgement.  He took his frustrations out on his violin as he waited for Lestrade to get home with John.

Sherlock heard John climbing the stairs carefully, followed slowly by Lestrade.  His violin was put away before the two men made it through the door.  One look at John and it took all of Sherlock’s self-control not to rush over to the man, to run his fingers over the bruises and cuts on the man’s face.  He took in the bandage covering the stitches over his left eye, the way John held himself a bit more carefully, and the weariness in his eyes.  John slowly shrugged off his coat before asking, “Do you think you could make the tea this once?”  Sherlock nodded and headed into the kitchen as John gingerly lowered himself onto the couch.  Lestrade followed the younger man into the kitchen.

“If you think John looks bad, you should see the other guy,” Lestrade tried to go for humor, but paled when he saw the fury on Sherlock’s face.  “Um, look.” Lestrade started again while Sherlock made the tea, “John really did do a number on the other guy.  I don’t think the kid realized he who he was dealing with when he jumped him.  Pure crime of opportunity.  Just stay with him tonight, okay?  The doctors, himself included, say he can sleep it off.  He’ll just need to be monitored to make sure his breathing’s okay.  The only reason they let him go was he assured them he had a more observant flatmate than any of the nurses and doctors they employed.  He just wanted to get home.  He was worried sick that you would do something stupid when you realized you couldn’t reach him.”  Sherlock’s face softened a bit at those words.

“You know I don’t need sleep.  I’ll make sure all proper precautions are taken,” Sherlock growled.  “I won’t let anything happen to him.  I can’t promise the same thing for the mugger though.” Sherlock didn’t bother to conceal his rage.  Lestrade merely nodded, both of them knowing it was no idle threat. They heard John grunt as he tried to get comfortable.

“I’ll be going now,” Lestrade replied.  “I’m off mate,” he called in to John, “Take care, don’t let your nurse give you a sponge bath if you don’t want one.”  This actually brought a chuckle from all three men, before Lestrade headed back down the stairs.

The two men sat quietly, drinking their tea.  Sherlock wisely didn’t ask John any questions and John was grateful for it.  When John rose to go to bed, Sherlock said, “Stay in my room tonight.  I won’t use the bed and you don’t need to climb anymore stairs.  Besides, it’ll be easier for me to monitor your breathing if you’re close by.  I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”

John was exhausted and didn’t bother arguing the point.  He just nodded and headed into the bathroom to brush his teeth and check his wounds.  Sherlock knocked to let him know his pyjamas were on the bed and left him to rest.  John sighed as he settled in under the duvet of Sherlock’s bed.

Throughout the night Sherlock would enter quietly into the bedroom to check on John’s breathing.  He would linger longer than necessary, watching the rise and fall of John’s chest, the way the light seeped in from the street lamps to fall softly on John’s face, the worry lines smoothed away by sleep.  He thought back to the emotions that had swirled through him that evening: worry, panic, fear, desperation, relief, anger, fury, and that unknown before tonight feeling of warmth and love at seeing John safe, home, and now asleep in his bed.  Sherlock had known he cared deeply for the ex Army doctor, but he had been reluctant to put any deeper of a term on those feelings beyond close friend and companion.  He set about to write one last note.

 

 

* * *

 

The next morning, when John awoke and drug himself out of bed into the kitchen he discovered the flat was empty.  He sent Sherlock a quick “Where are you text?” from the temporary mobile Lestrade had acquired for him the night before. The reply came quickly. 

Taking care of business. Eat. -SH

John decided he didn’t want to know what that meant and headed over to the table.  Sherlock had set out toast, jam, there was even water already in the kettle for tea.  John clicked it on, wincing as he pulled his mug and tea down from the shelves.  A familiar piece of paper fluttered down onto the counter.  Tea making forgotten, John picked it up, reading the words written in a shakier hand than he’d seen before:

 

 _John,_

_I have known, almost, from the moment we met that you were different.  You called me brilliant, amazing, fantastic, and a myriad of other adjectives that no one had ever thought worth uttering in my direction before.  You have stayed where others would have left.  You have let me be myself when others wanted to change me.  You never once doubted or looked down on me, and yet still managed to call me on my actions without degrading or humiliating me.  I know I wouldn’t be the man I am today, a better man than the day we met, if it weren’t for you._

_You are the single most amazing, brilliant, idiot of a man I have ever met.  Last night, when I couldn’t get in touch with you, when I heard you had been injured, I know it’s not possible, but it felt like my heart stopped for an instant.  And I realized last night, that I couldn’t bear for anything to happen to you, not without me there to stop it._

_I’m not sure if I can ever go back to a life without you in it.  I am not good at these kinds of emotions, but I will try with you.  I want to try with you.  I do believe that I am in love with you, John Watson._

_If you don’t feel the same, burn this note, don’t stash it with all your others, and we can go back to the way things have always been.  I will not bring it up again and we can remain friends.  Just, please, don’t leave._

_Sherlock_

 

John stood there in disbelief.  He read the letter a second and a third time.  He exhaled sharply, laying the letter down and closed his eyes. John had to sit down, still clutching the letter.  This was too much to take in all at once. He was still reeling from last night and then this.  But, really, this letter...this had been what he’d been hoping for from the beginning of the lunch notes.  And he honestly couldn’t blame Sherlock for his timing.  He held his face in hands, tears seeping out from under his lashes.  Finally John had his answer.

John felt the paper being picked up from the table, “Right, I’ll just burn this then,” Sherlock’s voice was shaky.  John’s hand shot out and grabbed Sherlock’s wrist.  He looked up, “Don’t you dare.”

John stood up, not daring to break eye contact with the taller man.  Neither of them spoke as John cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands, and lowered the Sherlock’s face to his.  Foreheads touching their breath mingled, before Sherlock leaned in and pressed a tentative kiss to John’s lips, as he wrapped his arms around John.  John sighed, deepening the kiss.  An eternity and not later, Sherlock pulled back, lips barely touching.  

“I guess this means you’re not leaving, then.” He punctuated each word with a small kiss, as if to emphasize that leaving was no longer an option.

John chuckled into the kisses, “I’m not going anywhere, but,” he kissed Sherlock hard enough to bruise, pulling him in even closer, “you’re not allowed to leave either.”

“Not if I can help it,” Sherlock smiled and returned the kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Curly is my head canon nickname for Harry, since I saw the post about Alex Kingston should play Harry Watson. Also, apparently I can't write fluff without throwing in a tiny bit of angst.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Little Notes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154919) by [torchwood221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torchwood221b/pseuds/torchwood221b)




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